Long nights and day's cold.
Steady waiting for the day where I'm not alone.
A hole in my heart and there is no restoring.
I'm wasted and chasing something hard to find.
You broke me so much, now it's hard to confide.
Over thinking everything, think...
Józef stares outside the window as the trees were bare having lost the last of its leaves. The branches swayed naked in the cold breeze.
He looked around the once fully decorated room become desolate. The bookshelf which once filled with books her wife no 'ex wife' adored were all gone. The vases which always stuff with fresh flowers were now broken into pieces.
As he sat on the desk, he saw a small painting of the two of them during their wedding. Maia was happily smiling while he has a very serious face. He recall the face of Maia while crying begging him yesterday.
After throwing her out of their house yesterday he had drunk himself to unconsciousness. A throbbing pain was felt in his head.
Weeks turned into months, but Józef couldn't shake the feeling that he had made a grave mistake. The ache in his heart grew stronger with each passing day, and he missed Maia's presence more than ever. He longed to hear her voice and feel her warmth once again.
He was about to stand to call for a maid when he accidentally stumbled upon an old box. He carefully take the box out and put it on the table. He saw a very intricate engraved initials on it 'M.F.', Maia Faye.
Józef had never seen the box before, out of curiosity he opened the box and great number of letters spill out, he realized that they were unsent letters written by Maia. He ponder who had written these letters to Maia, maybe it was from her lover. Thinking about it pricked his heart.
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Józef snatch one of the letter and torn it open. The letter was dated five year back and in Maia neatly and elegant handwriting,
there was written..
To my cherished Józef,
He put down the letter he was holding and open another one it was dated two years back, he grabbed another one and it was a letter five months back, and all of it was addressed to him. Józef held his head as he felt the throbbing pain again. He rest his back against the chair. He kept on thinking and questioning, 'Why did she write all these letters?', 'What did she wrote about,' and why did she never given me these letters?'
With a fluttering hands he picked up the wooden box and place it on his bed. He opened the one letter that dated recent month. It was written in black ink on a white paper the seems to be crumbled and tear-stained on it. As he began to read he felt himself being engrossed into Maia's words.
